


Roswell - well, kinda

by mothmage



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Crash Landing, F/F, First Contact, Language Barrier, Science Fiction, angie calls peggy mars instead of english its cute, bucky barnes: boy next door, i created a functional complex alien language for a fanfic who am i, jack and daniel will also make small appearances! but very small, steve is only in it for .2 seconds sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 23:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11657388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothmage/pseuds/mothmage
Summary: The year is 1993. Aliens have been watching Earth's development for nearly 40 years, but have chosen not to interact for the time being. Of course, the humans know nothing about any of this, and Angie Martinelli is much more worried about the director that hasn't called her back than about the prospect of aliens. That is, until one crash lands in the middle of Nowhere, Oklahoma, in the Barnes' best cornfield, and Angie is the only one who seems to have noticed.





	1. But Golden Girls is on!

On the night of September 16th, 1993, Angela Martinelli was in her bathroom, rubbing an oatmeal and avocado mask onto her face and dancing to the _Golden Girls_ theme song. Washing the green mush off her hands, she danced her way to the kitchen and took out the cucumber slices she had put in the fridge earlier. She considered the slices for a moment before popping one into her mouth. She poured herself a glass of (boxed) wine and grabbed the plate of cucumber slices to bring into the living room. Just as she flopped onto the sofa and made herself comfortable, there was a horrible rumbling noise, so loud it shook the walls. Her glass of wine tipped and spilled onto the rug.

“Shit!” Angie cried, quickly jumping up to right the glass and run for the paper towels. She unrolled a fistful and pressed it into the carpet, trying to soak up the worst of the wine. Leaving it for a moment, she walked over and yanked open the front door and hollered, “Howard Anthony Walter Stark! If that was another of your damn inventions, I swear to god……”

She trailed off, her eyes widening as she took in the amount of smoke outside. The worst of it was over by the Barnes’ cornfield, and Angie squinted, trying to see if there was anything or anyone over there. An orange light appeared, flickering in and out of view as the corn stalks blew around. It was growing bigger as Angie watched, almost like a –

“Fire!” Angie yelped, turning to jam her feet into the nearest shoes (her uncle’s work boots) and grab the flashlight from the table by the door, stowing it in the pocket of her bathrobe. She slammed the door behind her and ran around the side of the house, where she knew there was a fire extinguisher on a hook outside the shed. She grabbed it and started towards the fire, hoping to god Howard wasn’t in the middle of it.

She pushed her way through the corn, angrily wondering why this couldn’t have happened in May or June when the corn would have been lower than her knees and easier to get through. By September, it was almost at full maturity and well past her shoulders. The smoke hadn’t cleared at all and actually seemed to be getting thicker, making her cough and rub at her eyes. Suddenly (much sooner than she would have thought, given the lack of heat) she stumbled upon the fire. Only it wasn’t a fire so much as a……well, she would have said a car crash, but Angie hadn’t ever seen such a strange car. A helicopter, perhaps?

It looked like something out of _The Twilight Zone_ , all silver metal and flashing lights. A square light, orange and flickering on and off above what looked like a hatch, was what Angie had mistaken for flames. There were strange symbols on it, though, almost like Russian letters. Angie walked closer, fire extinguisher hanging forgotten in her left hand, to examine them. She was just leaning in when there was a groaning noise from inside the wreck. Angie shrieked and jumped back, brandishing the extinguisher like a weapon in front of her.

The noise repeated itself, louder and longer this time, and Angie thought it sounded more like a human noise than part of the machine. She took a cautious step closer, still ready with the extinguisher.

“Who’s there?”

No response. She took another step forward. “I’m warning you. I’ve got a weapon. I’ll call the police!”

There was silence for a moment, and then, suddenly, a loud creak and a metallic clang, followed by what could only be described as a whimper.

Angie lowered the fire extinguisher. “Are you alright in there?” When there was no response, she grit her teeth and set the extinguisher on the ground. “I’m coming over, alright? I’m gonna see if I can help at all.”

She pulled the flashlight from her robe pocket and switched it on, shining it on the smoking wreck. The metal hatch on the side was bent in at an awkward angle, leaving a gaping hole where all the smoke was escaping from. Stepping forward and putting the flashlight in her mouth to hold, Angie grabbed the loose end and pulled. The metal protested with an awful screech, but she managed to work it free and it swung open like a door. Angie coughed and waved her arms to clear all the smoke that poured out of the capsule, squinting to try to see something, anything.

 A weak voice said something in a strange language, and a hand, soot-covered and dripping blue liquid, emerged from the smoke. It flapped about weakly for a moment before dropping out of sight once more. There was a weak sort of grunt, then silence.

Angie took the flashlight in hand again and leaned into the capsule, shining it around. “Hello? Don’t freak out! I’m coming in! I don’t know if you can understand me, but I’m trying to help, alright?” She called, trying to sound as reassuring as possible, hoping the person would pick up on the tone of her voice, if not the meaning of the words.

The smoke began to thin out and the inside of the capsule became clearer. Sparking bits of wires and jagged, warped metal were everywhere. Angie stifled a gasp when she saw the person in what she assumed was the pilot’s chair. They looked unconscious (or dead), head lolling back, one hand hanging limp over the arm of the chair, as if it had been outstretched towards the opened hatch, the other clenched loosely around the seatbelt.

She clambered in the machine, hiking up her bathrobe to do so, and stepped over to the unconscious pilot, whom she could now see was a woman. “Hey, lady, you okay? Oh God….” She trailed off at the sight of the gash on the woman’s head, covered in more of the blue goo. The wound was covered in soot, like her hand and the rest of her, but it looked deep.

“You’re gonna be alright. It’s okay Let’s just…. let’s just get you out of here,” she said, squatting beside the chair to work at the seatbelt. It locked with a plastic clasp, like the sort on children’s car seats, but the plastic seemed to have melted together. Putting the light in her mouth again, she looked around for something to cut the belt with, coming up with a large shard of green glass. She used the hem of her robe to pick it up and cut the belt on both sides, crying out as the terrycloth split with the jolt and the glass dug in to her thumb. The flashlight fell from her mouth and rolled under the console in front of the chair.

When Angie was on her knees getting the light, the woman in the chair groaned and Angie jumped a little in surprise and hit her head on the underside of the console. She quickly grabbed the flashlight and shone it on the woman. She had turned her head a bit but still appeared to be unconscious. Angie crawled out and stood up, wondering how best to get her out of there. She stowed the flashlight in her pocket and reached down to grab the woman under her arms and pull her to a standing position. Angie grunted and had to lock her knees from collapsing under the dead weight. The woman was thin and shorter than Angie, but she was built solidly, lots of muscle. If she leaned back and let the woman sort of lie against her chest, Angie found she could slowly walk backwards and drag the woman along.

They were just barely through the hatch when the woman suddenly jolted awake and began to thrash and cry out in that same strange language. When her wild movements unbalanced them both, Angie instinctively released her and put her hands out to catch her fall. She ended up on her bottom in the pile of crushed corn stalks just outside the hatch with her legs tangled up in the opening. The woman stumbled out of the machine and over Angie and made it a few, halting steps before she nearly collapsed, crying out in pain.

Angie scrambled to her feet and caught the woman around the waist. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you. Let me help, come on.”

The woman looked up at her and Angie’s breath caught in her throat. The woman’s eyes, filled with both gratitude and distrust, were nearly too large and dark for her face, reflecting nothing from the dark sky. Her skin, filthy as it was, seemed strange as well, oddly dull. A thought entered her mind, probably born from watching too much _Star Trek_ , but –

" _Na g't a ina,_ " he woman said, shaking Angie from her fixated stare. It was likely just the lack of moonlight making things look so strange; it was a new moon, after all. Nothing weird about it.

Angie grinned. “Don’t understand a word you said, but I hope it was a thank you of some sort.”

The woman blinked her large eyes and opened her mouth as if to say something else, but cut herself off with a pained groan, flinching and clenching her jaw. Her eyes closed and Angie could see them moving rapidly under the lids.

“We really need to get you patched up,” Angie muttered. “Come on, lean on me, that’s it.”

A poor combination of limping and leaning got them through the field and back to Angie’s house, where she was relieved to find the door still unlocked. She helped the woman inside and onto the sofa.

“I’m gonna get the first aid kit,” she told her. “Stay here.”

The woman stared up at her, uncomprehending.

Angie thought a moment, then pointed to the woman and then the sofa. “You. Stay.”

The woman’s eyes fell closed and she scooted farther down the sofa to rest her head on the back. Angie shrugged and went to get the first aid kit. It’s not like the woman was up to moving any time soon, whether she had understood or not.

In the bathroom, Angie grabbed the kit from under the sink and was about to turn off the light and make her way back to the living room when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. The oatmeal avocado mask, now significantly greyer than it was when she applied it, was dripping down her neck and had bits of leaves stuck to it.

“Ugh. My skin better be softer than a baby’s ass after this long or I’m asking for a refund,” she grumbled as she switched off the light and walked back to the woman on the sofa, who looked as though she had fallen unconscious again. Angie sighed and placed the kit on the coffee table, looking the woman over.

The head injury was the worst, she decided. The bleeding looked to have stopped, but it was absolutely black with soot and crusted blue goo. She pulled out cotton balls and the antiseptic, hoping it wasn’t as deep as it looked. Angie was in no way prepared to stitch up a head wound. She could call an ambulance, but it would take nearly an hour to get here, as far from town as they were, and something told Angie she probably ought to leave the authorities out of this one.

Just a hunch.

 

Angie’s hunch turned out to be exactly right, as she found out once all the soot and blood had been cleaned off. The viscous blue liquid was not something from the wreck, as Angie had assumed, but it was the woman’s _blood_ , the color of which explained the strange tint to her skin, especially around her nose and the tips of her fingers. She was sort of bluish purple all over, but those bits seemed a deeper blue than others. It was not such a drastic difference from Angie’s own pinkish skin that it would be noticed from far away or at first glance, but after meticulously cleaning and disinfecting every visible inch of the woman, Angie had certainly noticed.

The one thing that really set her apart as _alien_ was the strange white markings around her eyes and nose. They were faint and nearly blended with her skin, but they were definitely conspicuous. The skin along the back of her neck was studded with ridges like those on an alligator, but her hair, perfect curls clipped back in a style similar to those popular in the 40s and 50s, came to just past her shoulders and kept those hidden. It also hid her ears, which were a normal shape but almost comically large.

Her arms and legs were normal but for their color, as Angie found when she rolled back the sleeves and legs of the alien’s clothing to check for injuries. She had pulled her shirt up to look at her torso, which had some angry-looking blue bruising on it near where a human’s stomach would be, but looked otherwise unharmed. Angie could only hope that the bruising wasn’t on some vital alien organ.

She sat with the alien for a while after she was done cleaning her up and bandaging her wounds. _Golden Girls_ was still on. She got through two episodes before she decided the alien wouldn’t wake up anytime soon and she could take a shower herself without worrying she would come out to find the alien missing and the house on fire. Or something.

After she had thoroughly scrubbed off both the remainders of the face mask and the filth from the night’s little adventure, Angie left the bathroom in a towel, feeling refreshed but tired. She poked her head into the living room to see the alien exactly as she had left her and nothing else changed. The TV was still on. The first aid kit was still open on the coffee table. The paper towels were still wadded up on the rug where she was sure the wine had left a stain.

Angie turned and walked to her bedroom. Pyjama pants and an old t-shirt replaced the towel, which she used to wrap around her hair. She then fell backwards onto her bed with a sigh. There was an _alien_ in her living room. What the hell was she supposed to tell Uncle Marco when he got back?

It had been a long day and Angie had almost fallen asleep when the phone rang, yanking her from the edge of unconsciousness. It rang three times before she got up to answer it and she was almost tempted to just let it ring out and go to voicemail, but she was glad she didn’t when she picked it up.

“Martinelli household, who’s this?” She said, trying to sound pleasant whilst stifling a yawn. She unwound the towel from around her head and let it drop to the floor.

“Angie?”

She frowned in confusion and looked at the clock. “Uncle Marco? Why’re you calling? I figured you’d be home any minute now.”

There was a crackly sigh from the other end of the line. “I got held up on business. I’m still in town and the buses’ll have stopped running by now. I’m gonna stay with Benny, here. Says his wife’s been dying for company lately and you know she and Rose used to be close before…. well, anyways. It’ll be good to talk to her.”

Angie smiled. “Alright, Uncle Marco. You take care of yourself, now, you hear? Don’t let Benny talk you into staying at the bar all night. And tell Grace I said hello.”

“Will do. See you tomorrow, kiddo. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

She hung up the phone and sighed in relief. She would have tonight and probably most of tomorrow to think about how to explain the alien to him. And who knows, maybe by then she’d be gone, rescued by more blue-tinted spacemen. Maybe Angie would be gone, too, abducted to be poked and prodded at like a lab rat.

She crept around to the living room and peeked in. The alien was still out cold.

With a big yawn, Angie walked into the room and turned off the TV. She grabbed a blanket that had fallen on the floor and curled up with it in the big armchair in the corner, facing the alien. She would sleep, but she would be ready. Just in case.


	2. Aliens like oranges. Who knew?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angie makes breakfast. Someone gets electrocuted. It all goes better than could be expected, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations for the alien language are in the end notes! you don't need to know them, but if you are curious they're down there :)

 As it turned out, nothing happened. Angie slept through the night and woke to find the alien still unconscious on the sofa. She walked over and felt her wrist just to check, but her pulse was there, if a little fast. Although, maybe it was supposed to be that fast, what did Angie know.

She went to the kitchen and started to make herself some toast and scrambled eggs, keeping a close eye on the alien the whole time. When the eggs were done, she picked up the pan and turned to bring it to the table, but jumped and nearly dropped the pan in surprise instead. The alien was standing right behind her, absolutely still.

“Jesus!” Angie cried. “You almost made me drop this. Gotta watch where you’re standing, huh?”

The alien just tilted her head to the side like a confused dog. “ _Inaa o d’ek?_

Angie gave her a little half smile. “Sorry, Mars. Didn’t quite get that.” She put the pan down on the counter and reached up to get another plate from the cabinet. “You want some eggs? The toast will be done in a minute.”

Predictably, the alien didn’t respond, but Angie didn’t let it faze her. “There’s butter and marmalade. I don’t think Uncle Marco’s got any jam, but I can check. We’ll find you something to eat.” She paused and looked up from her task. “Oh gosh, I hope you won’t get sick or something if you eat, like, _earth_ food.”

The toast popped out and Angie put one slice on the plate in her hand. The other one went into her mouth as she carried the plate and the pan over to the table. “Two plates of egg and toast coming right up,” she said, scooping out the eggs. “And I’ll get the butter and everything. You sit here.”

The alien blinked at her and Angie pointed at her, then at the chair. This only had to be repeated once more before the alien caught on and sat down at the table, still looking confused. Angie left her there and went to the fridge, piling the butter, marmalade, grape jam, orange juice, and milk into her arms. She then set all of this down on the table and got two glasses from the cabinet.

“Now,” she said, sitting down and grinning at her otherworldly guest. “What do you want to try first?”

The alien looked at her, her gaze wary, then down at the food on her plate, then back at Angie. Angie took a forkful of eggs and put it into her mouth, chewing slowly to demonstrate. “It’s food. You eat it,” she said around the mouthful of eggs.

The alien picked up the fork, struggling with it for a moment before eventually just holding it in her fist like a child, and speared a bit of egg. She carefully brought it up to her face and sniffed it. Apparently deciding it was alright, she put it in her mouth, chewing just as slowly as Angie had. Her face revealed nothing, so Angie didn’t know if she liked it or not, but she ate the rest of the eggs, so she decided to count it as a success.

“And this,” she said, picking up the milk carton and pouring a little bit into a glass, “is to drink. You know,” she showed her what she meant.

The alien took the carton and peered into the opening, then sniffed it. She recoiled so fast Angie hardly saw it, but she saw the look of disgust on her face afterwards.

“Alrighty then,” she said, taking back the milk and setting it to the side. “No milk then. Orange juice?” She offered the other carton, which the alien took, giving her a suspicious glance.

“ _I o d’ek mor ne!”_ she exclaimed after sniffing it. The exclamation sounded surprised, not angry, and she eagerly poured the juice into a glass and drank almost all of it, so Angie figured it was a good thing, whatever it was.

“You like that? We call it orange juice,” she told her, pointing to the orange on the front of the carton. “That’s an orange.”

The alien looked contemplative, then pointed at the orange. “ _Ne_.”

Angie grinned. “ _Ne?_ Is that what you call it?”

The alien pointed at the orange again, then at herself. “ _Ne_.” Then she pointed back at the orange, then at Angie. “Or-anch?”

Angie nodded. “Yeah, that’s right!”

The alien’s mouth twitched a little bit into what was almost a smile. She took a small bite of toast with nothing on it and frowned. Angie opened the marmalade and scooped some out with a spoon (no knives around the unknown alien, thank you very much). “Try this. It’s also made from oranges. From _ne_.”

After letting Angie smear the marmalade onto her toast, the alien tried another bite. This one seemed to go down much better, and she nodded to Angie. “ _Na g’t a ina._ ”

Angie hazarded a guess that that was thank you. “You’re welcome?”

They sat in silence for a moment, just eating, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as Angie would have thought. Then the alien finished her toast and marmalade and made a sort of humming noise. Angie looked up. The alien pointed at herself, then said clearly, “ _Pe a'gi Cort'na.”_

Angie blinked in confusion and the woman frowned, then pointed at herself again and repeated very slowly, “ _Pe a’gi Cort’na._ ”

Angie put down her toast and brushed the crumbs from her hands. She pointed at the alien. “Pe..gi? Peggy? Car….cartnow? Cartna? Cartner?”

The woman shook her head and made a noise that could really only be described as an amused snort. “ _I Pe a'gi d'pol._ ” she mumbled, smiling. She pointed at herself again and said, “ _Pe a’gi_.”

“Peggy,” Angie repeated.

The alien – _Peggy_ smiled, though she still looked a little amused.

Angie pointed to herself. “Angie.”

“An-chee.”

“An- _jee_ ,” she corrected, stressing the sound.

Peggy made a face. “ _Inaa d’ok n lop. Na d’ok ina lop. Io pol._ ”

Angie laughed. “I don’t have a clue what you just said, but I feel like I was just insulted. Anchee it is, then.”

“An-chee,” Peggy said, looking satisfied.

Angie shook her head. “You’re a stubborn one, Mars, I can already tell you’re trouble. Though I guess that’s how you ended up in this mess in the first place,” she added, already standing to take the dishes to the sink. “I mean, I don’t suppose you were supposed to crash your spaceship,” she said with a laugh.

She was halfway to the fridge with the milk and orange juice when it hit her. “Shit. Your spaceship.” She shoved the milk and juice in the fridge, then ran to grab the marmalade, jam, and butter and put those back as well. “We’ve gotta go, Peggy,” she said. The woman looked up at the mention of her name. “We’ve gotta get your ship before someone sees. Follow me.”

She motioned for the woman to follow her to her room, where she swapped her pyjama pants for jeans and threw a jacket on top. She grabbed another jacket and sunglasses for Peggy (convincing her to put them on was an entirely different struggle). Her pants were a little torn up, but they would have to do for now; Angie’s would be much too long. Besides, torn up was the style these days, even if it didn’t exactly suit the weather.

With the glasses, slept-in hairstyle, and black hoodie jacket, Peggy looked like any other hungover young adult, if a little pale. Angie just hoped she didn’t turn orange in the sunlight or grow feathers or something equally conspicuous.

“Peggy? We have to go hide your ship,” Angie told her. She used her hands to mime a crash landing (complete with sound effects), but Peggy just stared at her blankly. Angie sighed. “Just follow me.”

Angie thanked her lucky stars that at least Peggy was smart. God knows what she would have done if the woman wasn’t able to figure out most of her hand gestures. It took a while – Peggy didn’t seem to want to leave the house – but they made their way back to the field where the wreck was.

The smoke had cleared, and Angie saw that it was bigger than she had realized the night before. And in worse shape. It looked like it had actually broken into two separate pieces, one with the pilot’s chair, one with what looked like some sort of engine.

Angie was still standing there, looking the ship over, when Peggy marched right past her and towards the hatch. “Whoa, hey!” Angie cried, reaching to pull her back. “It could be dangerous in there!”

Peggy gave her a sour look that translated perfectly across the language barrier, and Angie released her arm, holding her hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. But I’m coming with you,” she said, gesturing to first herself then the ship.

Peggy gave no indication that she had seen or understood the gesture; she just turned and walked into the ship, leaving Angie to follow and hope it wouldn’t collapse on top of them. It didn’t collapse, thankfully, but it did suddenly blink out of existence, leaving them hovering several inches above the ground. Angie shrieked. The ship reappeared around them and Angie dropped to her knees, hands on the ground.

Peggy frowned. She fiddled with something on the console and the ship flickered out of existence for a moment before returning. The floor was solid under Angie’s hands the whole time, leading her to guess that the ship was just turning invisible, not actually disappearing. She hoped.

“You’re doing that, right, Mars? It’s supposed to do that?” Angie asked with a nervous laugh, still down on her hands and knees.

Peggy made a frustrated noise. “ _Lop d’i. Na l’ipt_.” She flicked another switch and all of the lights turned off.

“Is it supposed to –”

Peggy turned to her and cut her off. “Anchee.” She gestured with her hands for Angie to follow her out of the ship, which Angie was more than happy to do. She led her around to the other half, where Angie had thought the engine might have been. Before Angie could stop her, Peggy stuck her bare hand into the jumbled mess of wires where the engine had once attached to the rest of the ship.

“Jesus, Peggy! You trying to kill yourself?” Angie leapt forward to pull her back, but stopped abruptly when she got a closer look at what was happening.

Peggy’s dark eyes seemed impossibly far away, and the white markings on her face were pulsing with what looked like glowing electricity. As Angie watched, jaw hanging open, two feathery white tendrils – antenna? –  pushed up through Peggy’s hair and moved around slowly, like through water. They gradually turned to point towards the wires around Peggy’s arm. There was a buzzing sound, like when a plug is only halfway into the socket, and then, all of a sudden, Peggy dropped to the ground, sparks coming from her fingertips and antennae.

“Peggy!” Angie dropped to her knees beside her and touched her arm, yanking her hand back when she got an electric shock. Cautiously, she reached out to her again and, when no shock came, she grabbed her arm and shook it. “Peggy!”

The alien’s eyes opened slowly and she blinked up at Angie for a moment. Angie sighed a breath of relief, but it didn’t last long. Peggy then proceeded to get to her feet and walk _back_ into the ship. After a few moments, the ship flickered and then disappeared, invisible. It seemed to stick that time.

Angie sat back on her heels. “Well, I guess that solves that problem,” she mumbled.

“What,” said a voice from behind them, “the _hell_ just happened.”

They turned to see Bucky Barnes, bookbag in hand, staring at them in complete bewilderment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations (i made up this functional language let me use it):
> 
> Inaa o d'ek: Identify yourself.  
> I o d'ek mor ne: It's (orange) juice!  
> Na g't a ina: I thank you/I owe you  
> Pe a'gi Cort'na: Peggy Carter  
> I Pe a'gi d'pol: Just Peggy is fine.  
> Inaa d’ok n lop. Na d’ok ina lop. Io pol: You say mine wrong. I say yours wrong. All is well (alien expression meaning fair is fair).  
> Lop d’i. Na l’ipt: This is bad. I don't know (what's happening).


End file.
